


Soul of the City

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney did always think Sheppard and Atlantis were a little close for comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul of the City

 

First published in  _Jumper One_ (2006)

 

“’Minimal power fluctuations.’ Probably just standard energy-flow deviations—those morons can’t read anything higher than the level of a Dr. Seuss book. And I’m an astrophysicist, for God’s sake, not an engineer—why do they call me to fix everything?” Rodney muttered to himself, hooking sharp turns through Atlantis’ wide hallways. They were unsurprisingly empty considering it was after three a.m. “Of course it’s in the middle of the night—do problems ever show up right after lunchtime or dinner? Never. Sometimes I think this whole universe is conspiring to not let me sleep.”

Another turn brought John Sheppard into sight, going the opposite direction, and Rodney nodded curtly to him. “Colonel.” At least he’d finally learned Sheppard’s new title.

“They don’t give us a new title when we do something brilliant or heroic, either, because science is sensible, unlike…”

Rodney slowed, then turned to watch Sheppard’s retreating back. Huh. He really _was_ dressed in a white t-shirt and boxers, walking down the hallway in the middle of the night, not answering Rodney’s greeting.

“Okay, that is a little strange,” he murmured, and hurried after the departing man. “Colonel!”

No response. Sheppard turned the corner without even the briefest slowing of stride.

Even weirder. Rodney picked up his pace, around the corner and up to John’s side, matching his stride. “Colonel, I think you forgot—”

Sheppard didn’t turn, didn’t hesitate, didn’t even hear him if the glassy-eyed look was any indication. Sleepwalking? But Rodney had seen his file and it didn’t mention sleepwalking.

Rodney’s eyes narrowed and he waved his hand up and down in front of the colonel’s eyes, then snapped his fingers. No response, not even a blink. John did, however, neatly go around a pillar in the hallway, one Rodney nearly crashed into in his distraction. Not sleepwalking. It was as if someone had turned the lights without anyone home. And in an alien galaxy, some _one_ could mean some _thing_. “This is really not good,” Rodney said quietly, considering options. Letting John walk to wherever he was being made to go was not one of them, so…

Rodney picked up speed and planted himself in Sheppard’s path.

The colonel stepped around him as if he were another pillar and kept right on going.

Not only was this not good, it was starting to scare Rodney. John Sheppard on a mission set by some unknown was bad enough. John Sheppard not responding to anything else around him including his best friend was…well, of course it was a problem for all of them, but it twisted Rodney’s gut even without the fact that city security and their ranking military officer had been compromised.

With morbid scientific curiosity, he made one last effort, snagging John’s arm. “Colonel—”

A decisive wrench and John was free again, leaving Rodney to stare at Sheppard’s retreating back. No violence, no reaction to Rodney, just doing what he had to to be free to answer the siren call only he heard.

Time to call in reinforcements. This was way over even his head.

Rodney keyed his headset even as he scrambled to match Sheppard’s pace again—there was no way he was losing sight of this programmable, life-size Sheppard robot. “Elizabeth, Ronon, Teyla, Carson—whoever’s up right now, we’ve got a problem here.”

Weir, of course, was the first to answer. She was the one person who seemed to get even less sleep than Rodney did. _“Rodney, this is Weir. What’s wrong?”_

“Ah, well, nothing, unless you consider the fact that Colonel Sheppard seems to be on a mission without his being aware of it.”

_“What?”_

“I’m in section D2 walking next to Sheppard, who’s doing a pretty good imitation of sleepwalking—you know, nobody in the driver’s seat.” He veered ahead of Sheppard once more, trying to meet his eyes, looking for any sign of awareness or the man he knew, but there wasn’t even a spark of life behind the flat gaze. Rodney shivered.

_“Are you saying Colonel Sheppard appears compromised?”_

He swallowed. “Oh, yeah, you could say that.”

_“Have you tried stopping him?”_

“Not that I think that was the smartest thing I’ve done, but yes, I did. Barely slowed him down.”

A moment passed, probably while she conferred with someone in the control room. _“I’ll get Carson and some others down there in a minute. Don’t let him out of your sight.”_

He turned his headset off before muttering, “Right, because I was going to let him wander off brainwashed into the bowels of the city because, hey, how much damage can one person under alien influence do?”

Weir wasn’t the first one to show up, however. They turned another corner, John’s stride never wavering, Rodney’s stuttering to keep up, and suddenly there was Ronon a few doors down. At the sight of them, one eyebrow arched in his usual amusement bordering on disdain.

“Heard you had a problem,” he said.

Elizabeth had stretched Rodney’s patience. That one look from Ronon snapped it beyond repair. “No, Colonel Sheppard always roams the halls in the middle of the night in his underwear. Of _course_ we have a problem! He won’t stop.”

Dex chewed on that a moment, then as John reached him, casually stepped out in the hallway in front of him.

Sheppard side-stepped him, too.

“I tried that already,” Rodney said.

But Ronon was already flying into motion. He grabbed Sheppard’s shoulders from behind, and even as the colonel began to shrug free, whirled him around and down to the floor. Dex shifted his weight to pin him to the floor.

Rodney’s jaw dropped. “Well, okay, I didn’t try that.” He frowned as John’s feeble attempts to shrug the weight of his back and rise again, faded, then died. “You’re not hurting him, are you?” he asked doubtfully.

“He’s breathing.”

“Yes, and not moving. Get off him.” Rodney pushed impatiently at one bulging arm.

He might as well have been shoving at a mountain, but Dex tolerantly moved aside to crouch next to John’s prone, unmoving figure. Rodney quickly felt for a pulse and checked his breathing, monumentally relieved to find both strong and steady. But the blank eyes were shut now, and no amount of prodding was eliciting a response, physical or verbal.

“Stop poking him, Rodney!” Carson had arrived with his team, and Rodney stepped back to give them room. He was still frowning at the tableau when Elizabeth arrived a minute later.

“What happened?”

“Ronon, er, sat on him. Sheppard kept trying to move for a few more seconds, then he just…passed out.”

“He didn’t try to fight back or get violent?”

Dex took that one. “He was trying to get free, not fight.” Rodney nodded. Even against Ronon, Sheppard had gone down a lot easier than he would have normally.

“So we still don’t know what—”

The light in the hallway flickered.

Rodney spat a curse, ignoring Elizabeth’s disapproving look. “What is going _on_ here?” He strode over to the nearest intercom. “Radek, tell me that wasn’t what I think it was.”

“What?” a decidedly sleep-heavy and accent-thickened voice responded. “Rodney?”

He sighed. “Never mind, just…get down to the control room. Something’s royally screwed in the state of Denmark.”

“What? We are in Denmark?”

“Radek,” Rodney said frostily.

“Yes, yes, I’m going—you don’t mind if I put pants on first, yes?”

“Please,” he said exaggeratedly, then turned back to the small crowd gathered on the hallway floor around one unmoving figure. “Carson?”

“I don’t know yet,” came the terse answer.

Terrific. This had so not been worth getting out of bed for. Although, if he hadn’t intercepted Sheppard in the hallway… Rodney cringed; right, why borrow trouble? They had enough as it was.

He glanced over at Elizabeth. “I need to, uh…”

“I know. Go.” She followed his gaze as it strayed back to the motionless colonel. “I’ll let you know when Carson finds anything,” she added gently.

Rodney nodded, unhappy but knowing that was the best he could get. He turned and stalked toward the nearest transporter. Carson would do his job and John would be fine. Now it was time for Rodney to do his.

He just wished he could shake the really bad feeling he had about all this.

 

The first rays of dawn were lighting the windows of the infirmary when Rodney walked in, laptop clutched in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. Radek had insisted on the latter, and as much as Rodney had tried to protest he didn’t have the time, he was grateful for the caffeine. It made the unending bad news a little more palatable.

Like why his repeated calls down to the infirmary had netted nothing but “no news yet.” How could a thorough examination of a single patient not produce any results at all? At least he had something to show for his efforts, meager as it was, and he’d had an entire city to check.

Sheppard was gowned, tucked into a bed, and apparently still unconscious. Rodney winced at that, but at least there were no machines around, nothing pumping air into his lungs or keeping his heart going. At least he was doing something on his own.

Carson and Elizabeth, on either side of the bed, looked up as he came in. Rodney quickly spoke before Weir had a chance to ask the question she was obviously about to.

“How is he?”

Beckett looked more dour than usual. “A bloody mystery, that’s how he is. Heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, even brain activity all elevated and rising, but no elevated white count, no viral presence in the blood, nothing on the MRI—he’s getting worse and there doesn’t seem to be a medical reason for it.”

As much as he derided Carson’s skills, the doctor was good and Rodney knew it. If he was saying he didn’t know the answer, they were in trouble. Rodney chewed on the inside of his mouth and stared at the silent patient. “I take it he hasn’t woken up.”

“Hasn’t even stirred.”

Rodney grimaced. “Terrific.”

“Tell me you have better news,” Elizabeth said, her eyes on Rodney.

“Well, yes and no. The good news is, nothing serious seems to be wrong—power levels are all within normal ranges, the city’s main systems are working fine, the ZedPM is functioning as it’s supposed to.”

“But…”

There was always a _but,_ wasn’t there? Rodney sighed. “But we can’t find what caused the flicker.”

“Could it be a recurring problem?”

“Well, of course it could, but—”

The infirmary lights dimmed, staying low for a second before brightening again.

Rodney tilted his head. “Yes, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s definitely a recurring problem.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “But you don’t think it’s a serious one.”

“Serious like an impending Wraith attack, or serious like we might want to figure this out before we start having systemwide blackouts?”

She wasn’t amused. “Pick one.”

Yeah, well, he wasn’t amused, either, not while they were talking over an unconscious John Sheppard’s bed. “Like I said, all the main systems seem to be fine.”

Weir contemplated that. “All right. Keep looking for the cause and let me know how things are going. You too, please, Carson.”

He and Rodney both nodded. Elizabeth nodded back and walked out of the room, her usual grace shaded only slightly with fatigue.

The two of them returned to staring at Sheppard, Rodney frowning, Carson absently rubbing his stomach. Rodney turned his frown on him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing, just a wee bit of stomach trouble.”

“Oh.” His eyes swung back to the bed. “It’s not possible he just picked up something, too, is it?” But Carson was already shaking his head soberly. Rodney mirrored him. “Didn’t think so.”

A beat. Carson stirred. “Shouldn’t you be working on curing the city?”

“Hmm? Oh, right.” Rodney glanced around him, found no convenient tabletop, so he shoved his coffee cup into Beckett’s hand while he dragged a chair closer. He settled into it with oblivious haste, his laptop open on his lap before he reached again for the coffee.

Which Beckett pulled away. They stared at each other with narrowed eyes. “What’re you doin’?” Carson asked.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m working on figuring out where the glitch is. So unless you want me falling out of this chair in drooling slumber, I’d like my coffee back.”

“You can do that from here?”

“I can do that from anywhere—Radek’s up in the control room and he’s sending me data. It doesn’t look like the major minds the company, does it?”

“Colonel,” Carson absently corrected.

“Whatever. Can I have my coffee back now?”

Beckett handed him the cup. “He doesn’t know you’re here,” he said softly.

His free hand paused in its furious typing. “Well…I do.”

Carson left him after that.

The half-finished coffee grew cold. The data showed no anomalies. And Sheppard was exactly in the same position every time Rodney glanced up. In all, it was turning out to be as lousy a day as it had been a night.

The lights suddenly dimmed again, this time fading out for a three-count before strengthening once more. And even as Rodney cocked his head at the readings scrolling across his screen, there was a distant, soft rumble. The coffee’s surface trembled.

Sheppard groaned.

Rodney pressed a button to save the information and slid the laptop off his lap to stand by the bed. “Colonel?”

John’s face contracted, as if he were trying to wake up. “McKay?”

He sounded rusty, weak, and uncertain, and the best thing Rodney had heard in a very long time. “Thank God,” he breathed, sagging briefly. “How’re you feeling?”

Sheppard squinted at him, as if trying to bring him into focus. “Like I’ve been hit with a Wraith stunner. What’s going on, Rodney?”

He crossed his arms. “You don’t remember anything?”

“I remember…going to bed, then waking up here.”

“Remember how Cadman borrowed my body for midnight strolls?”

It took a moment to connect. Sheppard gave him a look that bordered on silent panic. “I’m sharing space with somebody?”

Guilt shot through Rodney. “No! That’s not what I… Look, I’m sorry, maybe Carson should—”

“Just tell me.” Low and intense.

Rodney, considering, wearily nodded. “I ran into you in the hallway a few hours ago. I almost thought you were sleepwalking at first: not exactly dressed for duty, eyes open and vacant—no big difference there, actually.” At John’s glare, he hurried on. “But when you walked around me like I was just another pillar, we started to get a little worried. Dex sat on you, and you passed out. Until now.”

“Ronon _sat_ on me?”

Rodney shrugged. “Just a little bit.”

Sheppard digested that. “Sleepwalking?”

“Yeah, except for the part where you were obviously going somewhere and, oh yeah, you wouldn’t wake up. And Carson says you’re now running a fever for no reason.”

The dark head, even more tousled than usual, dropped back into the pillow. “That explains why I feel so chewed up. I don’t know why I’d suddenly start sleepwalking now, though.”

“I don’t think you were sleepwalking, Colonel,” Rodney said soberly.

Those eyes that always saw right through every bluster he threw in its path, pinned him now. “You mean like I was being…controlled?”

“Summoned, programmed, called, take your pick.”

“I’d rather not, thanks.” He eased the blanket back and started to rise. “I’m not staying here until we—”

The floor trembled again, a soft protesting shudder, before stilling.

Sheppard had paled, face tightening, and the blanket slipped out of his hand. “What the—?”

“Yes, well, that’s the other problem we have going on right now. It seems there’s a glitch in Atlantis’ power systems somewhere we can’t find.”

John seemed to have given up rising, saving Rodney the trouble of shooing him back, but stared up at the scientist from where he lay on his side. “That seems like a lot more than a glitch, Rodney.”

“It’s not as—”

“Colonel, you’re up! You should’ve told me, Rodney.” Beckett, by turns cheerful and annoyed, wormed his way between them to start checking over his patient.

Rodney made a face at the back of his head, saw John’s mouth twitch in response, and gathered up his laptop. At least one of his two concerns seemed to be getting better. “I’ll just get back to work then. Let me know if he’s giving you any trouble.”

“I will,” Beckett said, in chorus with Sheppard’s “Sure.” They frowned at each other, then at Rodney.

Hiding a smile behind an innocent look, Rodney abandoned his cold coffee and beat a strategic and hasty retreat.

 

Things went downhill from there.

“What do you mean, the power conversion readings are steady?” Rodney asked. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the near constant rumble now rolling through the city like some Toronto-sized approaching freight train. The tremor from before still came and went but had strengthened into a noticeable shake, and the lights had cut out so often that Rodney had finally put the whole city under reduced-lighting conditions. All in all, they weren’t promising signs.

“Just what I said,” Zelenka answered, voice strained not only by the rise of volume. “The generators are not showing a peak and the ZPM’s output is also steady. Power output is not where the problem is.”

“Well, if it’s not in the ZedPM and it’s not in our generators, then _where_ is it?”

Radek scrubbed a hand tiredly over his loose hair. “Maybe the problem is other than the power systems.”

Rodney checked something on the console in front of him, then swiveled to look at another behind him, impatiently pushing a control room staffer out of his way. “That might, _might_ explain the noise and the vibration, but not the lights, not city-wide. It’s probably something in the conversion pathways, maybe even some section we don’t know about. God knows we haven’t explored a fifth of the systems we use. Pull up that graph again.”

Zelenka turned away to push a few buttons, just as Elizabeth climbed the steps to join them in the control center. “Any progress, gentlemen?”

“None,” Rodney said tersely, eyes glued to the graph that came up on the screen. Nothing. Just as he’d expected, just as he knew, and just as unhelpful. He blew out a tired and frustrated breath, flicking a hand at Radek to get him to shut it off. The graph bled away.

He turned to Elizabeth, moving heavily under the weight of being the city’s savior, and felt the burden grow as he caught sight of her face. His own felt frozen as he asked, “What’s wrong?” He didn’t even sound like himself.

She hesitated, clearly not wanting to trouble him, which at that point was pretty much a dead issue. Nor did it help the bitter taste of fear in his throat. “It’s John,” she finally said. “I just came from the infirmary—he’s in constant pain now and getting worse. Carson isn’t sure he’ll survive the day if we can’t figure out what’s wrong. I just came up to send word to Teyla on the mainland.”

Rodney stared at her a moment, motionless. Then he bolted from the chair, making it halfway to the stairs before he jerked to a stop, looking back helplessly at Zelenka.

“Go on.” Radek nodded wearily. “I will look at the conversion pathways again.”

Rodney gave him a short nod and ran.

He broke his own speed records down the hall, to the transporter, then the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of the infirmary doors. There he stopped, standing motionless, leaning with one hand against the wall. He couldn’t do this. The city was falling apart around him; he couldn’t stand to see the same thing happening to his best friend. Rodney rubbed his burning eyes. How was he supposed to do this?

He was stalling. Rodney took a deep breath, nearly choked on it, and walked inside. And felt his newfound resolve quickly melt.

John Sheppard was suffering. He was conscious, in control of his faculties, and grinned the moment he caught sight of McKay. That would’ve all been great if it weren’t an act. His arm was curled more than casually around his belly as he lay on his side, muscles tight, sweat glistening in the spikes of his hair and breath faintly wheezing, as if it took effort. Rodney felt his own chest tighten with empathy, and that was only for the obvious signs. Far more telling were the eyes few knew how to read, dark with pain and the knowledge of what was happening to him, and just a hint of well-hidden fear.

“My God,” he whispered. How had they gone from sleepwalking to this in twelve hours?

“Rodney,” Carson started, coming toward him, but Rodney held up a hand. One thing at a time, he could only handle one thing at a time, and this was taking all he had already. He stumbled to the bed, taking in every detail of his nightmare.

Sheppard’s mouth twisted wryly. “That bad, huh?” he whispered. His voice sounded like he’d been screaming, and Rodney flinched from the thought.

He tried to smile. “I didn’t think it was possible for your hair to look any…” Rodney faltered. He just couldn’t. “John…”

 _Yeah,_ he’d all but said, _that bad,_ and they both knew it. Still, the colonel tried, because he was John Sheppard. “Stiff upper lip, McKay. ‘M not gone yet.”

But it was only a matter of time. A spasm unexpectedly rocked him just as the city also shook, nearly rattling him off the bed, and Rodney reached out a halting hand to steady him, hold on, _something_.

“Don’t!”

Rodney yanked his hand back.

John swallowed, rasped, “Sorry. Just…don’t touch me. It hurts.”

“Right.” He licked his lips, fluttered his hands weakly. “This just…it sucks, okay? It’s lousy, it’s unfair, it stinks—we did not just get done saving the city from certain destruction and then almost get fried by a computer virus for you to just waste away from some mystery illness. Not that there was ever much to you in the first place, but…it’s not right.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, McKay—any more words of encouragement you want to share?”

Rodney looked at him miserably. What would he do without that sarcasm and irreverent grin? No one else in the whole city spoke his language so fluently. “Well, I’m sorry if my lack of brow-stroking or hand-wringing doesn’t meet your ideal of a friend, but I am still kinda new at this and I expected a little more time to practice.”

John’s eyes winced shut in response to another internal attack, and he smothered a groan. But the intent stare soon bored into Rodney again. “I didn’t say that.”

And that was what did it. It was the last straw or blow or whatever, that quiet admission. He might as well have been saying good-bye, and considering that only twenty-four hours before he’d been teasing Rodney over his second date with Katie, this was just…too much. He was going to throw up, right there on Beckett’s clean floor. Give the man something to really complain about.

Beckett… Rodney’s head whipped around, looking for the doctor and finding him just a few feet away. “Carson, why aren’t you giving him something? Where’s your compassion—he’s hurting, for God’s sake!”

“Hey, easy on my doctor,” Sheppard mumbled behind him, but didn’t deny Rodney’s words.

“I know that, Rodney, and we’re doing everything possible, but we can’t give him much without knowing what the problem is. We could be masking symptoms or—”

“The symptoms are he’s in agony! Masking that is what we want. Are you telling me easing this is going to make that much of a difference?”

“McKay.” His sleeve was tugged.

“Would you just shut up a minute?” he snapped over his shoulder, busy glaring holes into Beckett.

Carson hesitated. “No, it probably wouldn’t make a difference.”

“No, it probably wouldn’t,” Rodney repeated sarcastically. “So give him something already. This…this isn’t acceptable,” he trailed off, finally glancing back at John.

Sheppard was still watching him, an almost wistful smile pulling at his tight expression. “Bad day?”

“What would give you that idea?” The words just kept tumbling out, as if everything would fall apart if he stopped. “Atlantis sounds like it’s going under any minute, one look at you would send a Wraith screaming in the other direction, but hey, on the bright side, the commissary has danish today.”

The chuckle was so painfully weak, it made him swallow. “Well, ’s long as there’s danish…”

John was fading in front of him, joking as he went, and it made the rejoinder bitter in Rodney’s mouth. But it was how they said what needed saying. “Thank you. I’m glad someone understands. How do they expect us—”

The loose grip on his sleeve suddenly turned into an iron clamp on his wrist. Even as another ripple of vibration passed through the city, Sheppard shook under a blitz of his own, neck corded and eyes squeezed shut. And Rodney covered the crushing hand with his own but otherwise just stood there, watching and feeling utterly, terrifyingly useless.

“Carson!”

“I’m right here.” Beckett was already injecting something into the IV. “It’ll help, just give it a few moments.”

And it did. The death-grip on his wrist slowly eased, as did the taut posture. John even started breathing again, although his eyes didn’t reopen. Rodney tentatively gave the still-clutching hand a pat, and there was no reaction.

“Did you knock him out?” he asked uneasily. He refused to believe their last conversation in this life had been about danish.

“No, not completely, I just took the edge off.”

“Some edge,” Rodney murmured. He didn’t even want to think about what kind of torture that implied. Sheppard was a stoic when it came to pain, so this display had already said enough.

The grip on his wrist slid fractionally up his arm, lightly tugging.

Rodney’s eyes narrowed. He really wasn’t up for last words.

But even as he leaned forward, the hand kept pulling at him. Leverage, Rodney suddenly realized, as Sheppard’s head rose a few inches from the pillow.

“You have got to be kidding me!” He did it carefully, but Rodney pushed him back flat on the bed. “That’s all we need, you staggering around the city—we could start a pool about which of you two’ll go down first.”

John was still pulling him, though, and under the blankets his feet shuffled closer to the edge of the bed. Virtually on his deathbed and he wanted to go, pulled like a magnet…

Rodney went still. Oh, Lord, was it that simple?

He watched. Saw John curl against another rush of pain just as the floors bucked. Silently groan as the city did. Twitch when the lights dimmed.

Thoughts bounced around his head around like popcorn. John was always amused when he got like that, but Rodney wasn’t thinking about that now. “Carson!” he hollered, almost jumping when the doctor appeared beside him. “There you are. Is that stomachache still bothering you?”

“A little,” Beckett admitted, “but it’s not—”

“Has Stackhouse been in today, by any chance?”

“How did you know that?”

But Rodney had already tuned him out. “Of course,” he breathed. “I’m an idiot”—it was so obvious—but who would have thought?

He turned back to Beckett, John’s hand firmly gripped in his own now.

“Get some more sedatives, enough to drug him to the gills this time.” He wished there’d been a chance to run it by Sheppard, but John would just have to give his consent afterwards.

Beckett’s face creased in befuddlement. “Have you gone mad, Rodney? What’re you—?”

Rodney snapped his fingers. “And hurry it up—we’re going sleepwalking.”

 

“Have I mentioned how much I don’t agree with this?”

“Numerous times, Carson,” Rodney answered impatiently. “It’s been noted. Now shut up.”

He could imagine the dirty look he was getting behind his back, decided he couldn’t care less, and kept moving even as Carson took his case higher.

“Elizabeth, Colonel Sheppard should be back in the infirmary, not on a wild goose chase. This’ll weaken him even further.”

“Or, as I hypothesized, solve all our problems, including the colonel’s,” Rodney said over his shoulder.

“How, by having him do your job?”

That one actually stung. Rodney turned hotly, even as he kept moving forward. “You listen to me, Carson, because I’m only saying this once. This city, contrary to his or yours or any other member of this expedition’s opinion, is not worth John Sheppard’s life. My incredibly demanding, unrewarding, often-unpleasant job doesn’t even rate in comparison, so if I pull him out of the infirmary and your clutches—which, might I add, weren’t helping him at all—you can stake your questionable medical degree on the fact that it’s because it’ll help him. And if it happens to save the city and all its occupants along the way, well, good for us.”

Weir’s eyebrows arched. Carson blinked at him, momentarily speechless. Even Ronon looked impressed.

John Sheppard, from whom he’d almost expected an impudent grin, didn’t say a word, didn’t even glance over, just shuffled on beside him.

Rodney gave the peanut gallery a last huff, then returned his attention to the task of keeping Sheppard on his feet, one arm wrapped around the bathrobe-clad back. Carson’s drugs, and the invisible pull of the city, did the rest.

It was simple, once Rodney got past the notion the city knew something was wrong with it. It had protected itself before; why not now? So it had called for help, dragging their most ATA-endowed resident out of his bed to come fix it. And when they’d stopped Sheppard from answering the call, Atlantis started to deteriorate, dragging John down with it. Who knew, maybe when the city was populated with Ancients, the call and subsequent pain might have been distributed evenly among the residents, some sort of early warning system to make sure problems were fixed before they grew too severe. Beckett and Stackhouse and the few others with weaker strains of the gene had felt some mild discomfort, but with a significant lack of ATA genes to talk to, the city’s distress had been concentrated in the one person most tuned to receive it. Strongly enough to kill him, in fact.

Unless they started listening again.

“Okay, here’s where he was the last time.” Rodney glanced around the hallway, nodding to himself. Ronon had jumped Sheppard just one doorway down, and stood by ready to do so again at a word, but that wouldn’t be necessary this time. For everything the city had put them through, all it had wanted was someone to come fix what was wrong. Let it finish its mission and everything should be fine, including the colonel.

So the theory went, anyway. But it had to work, plain and simple. All their lives, especially Sheppard’s, depended on it. No pressure, naturally—story of Rodney’s life.

He turned back to Carson one more time. “You’re sure you gave him enough sedative? He’s not gonna come out of it halfway through this?” All they needed was the pain to hit right in the middle of some delicate maneuver and interrupt the city’s instructions.

Beckett scowled at him. “He’s got enough in him to knock out an elephant for a day. Whatever’s movin’ him now, it’s not Colonel Sheppard.”

Which was exactly what he wanted to hear. Rodney licked his lips. “Here goes then.” He withdrew his supporting arm and stepped back.

Sheppard swayed, almost falling over, then caught himself and started to move with the same stiff steps Rodney had watched him take the night before. How that had fooled him for even a moment mystified him now; the gait was all wrong, far from the one he could recognize even from a distance in the heat of battle. The city really was in charge. Rodney took a long breath.

An arm’s length away, Sheppard wobbled again.

“His body’s worn out, Rodney,” Carson protested from behind. “You can’t make go what isn’t strong enough.”

Rodney quickly sidled back into place next to Sheppard, steadying him with a hand. The man felt hot to the touch, even through the gown and robe. “He just needs a little help. This is gonna work, just…trust me.”

No one said anything. No one needed to.

They moved in shuffling meters. Slower than the night before, it seemed to Rodney, and he didn’t know if that was because Sheppard was weaker or the city was. The vibration underfoot was nearly constant, the city’s moaning like a death cry, setting Rodney’s teeth on edge, and Sheppard took one tremulous step after another.

At a transporter, he stepped inside, Rodney and Carson crowding in after him and everyone else left unhappily behind in the hallway. Elizabeth tapped her headset and Rodney nodded.

The transporter whisked them away without their even pushing a destination.

The doors opened on a dark and empty hallway. Carson muttered a curse as he stumbled on the way out, but followed along behind as John took the lead again, Rodney beside him.

 _“Where are you, Rodney?”_ Elizabeth spoke in his ear.

He’d just been wondering the same thing. “Uh, actually, I’m not sure. It looks like one of the lower levels but I don’t know what section. Someplace we haven’t been yet.”

This hallway was straighter and narrower than the city norm, and Rodney craned to catch glimpses of open rooms they passed. Some of them were empty, others were stacked with the Atlantean equivalent of crates. In other circumstances, he would have itched to take a look, but Rodney just took mental notes and kept walking, tightening his grip when Sheppard wavered again.

The hallway soon opened out in front of them, and Rodney’s jaw dropped. Machinery filled the whole space from floor to ceiling, pipes and gauges and panels and blocks of circuitry weaving between boxes and chunks of equipment Rodney couldn’t even recognize. But he knew what this place was now.

“Back-up systems,” he whispered.

_“Excuse me?”_

“Uh, we’re in the lowest level of the city, probably D or E wing. Back-up systems.”

_“Back-ups for what?”_

“Everything.”

John seemed to be moving more sure-footedly now, and when he pulled away from Rodney to squeeze into the space between two giant hulks of machinery, Rodney let him, slipping in behind. Carson grumbled something about waiting for them there but Rodney didn’t pay attention, focused on keeping Sheppard in sight.

They wound their way in several meters, then suddenly stopped. John reached for a gauge, pressing a button on it until the reading changed, then turned a valve.

“You do know what you’re doing, right?” Rodney asked nervously. He was watching every motion, but without his equipment and the Ancient database and a lot of study, he could only begin to speculate what he was looking at. “Of course you know—you’re the city. Who’d know better?”

No answer. He hadn’t expected one. Those eerily blank eyes were concentrating on their work, now tinkering under a lifted panel.

_“Dr. McKay, please report.”_

_Doctor_ —she was annoyed he wasn’t keeping her informed. He knew the feeling. “I don’t know—he’s working on something, but it’s not like the city’s giving me running commentary. This isn’t a how-to documentary.”

She just sighed. _“You said back-up systems—does this have anything to do with our repairs from the Wraith attack?”_

“Probably,” he conceded as he watched Sheppard—Atlantis—work. “We’ve been taking some of the main systems off-line to fix them, using the back-ups for the first time. If one of them started malfunctioning, the city could have been redirecting power to try to compensate for it.” Which would explain both the steady power levels and the flickering lights.

The panel went back in place, and another was lifted. John ducked under it briefly, then out again to turn another valve.

It was strange, watching him move without the familiar body language, the determined set of mouth, the focused presence behind those eyes. And completely oblivious to Rodney’s presence. Even in his most highly concentrated soldier mode, Sheppard was always aware of him and where he was. Rodney had thought it was a military leader-thing until John kept tracking him down off-duty, too, usually when Rodney had something on his mind. It had taken a long time to realize it was actually a friend-thing.

All that was gone now, and it was hard not to feel its loss, even as Rodney consoled himself it was temporary. And better than the lucid but pain-wracked John Sheppard he’d visited earlier that afternoon…but not by much.

Temporary. He’d make sure of that.

The colonel moved deeper in, pressing several buttons on a panel. The vibrations of the floor changed, a different timbre now.

_“Rodney?”_

“He’s still working—it seems to be doing something, anyway.”

Another button retracted the whole side of a large metal box, and John leaned into it.

A minute passed.

The city abruptly shrieked…then went silent, the vibrations stilling. Another few seconds, and lights brightened overhead, illuminating the greys and soft blues of the machinery around them. Rodney gaped at the sight.

Ahead of him, Sheppard zipped the circuitry box shut again, flicked something on a gauge above it, then froze in place like a machine with its power cut.

And suddenly sagged toward the floor.

Rodney had been half-prepared for something like that, but still he jumped, startled, to catch the falling body in time. There wasn’t much room, but he managed to snag Sheppard’s nearest arm, then quickly hooked the other one, too, and began lugging the deadweight out from amidst the machinery, back to where Carson waited.

_“Rodney.”_

“Busy now,” he wheezed. John’s head lolled against his stomach, and Rodney angled them both carefully so he didn’t smack it against any sharp corners or protruding levers. His ribs groaned in protest at the weight he was supporting, but he finally got one arm banded across Sheppard’s chest and kept pulling. “You couldn’t’ve walked him out first before dropping him,” he complained in gasps to the unresponsive city. “Of all the ungrateful, selfish—”

“Rodney?” Beckett’s face hovered worriedly in front of him.

Rodney gave a relieved puff. “Thank God—Carson, grab his arm.”

The two of them manhandled Sheppard out the last meter and laid him flat on the floor, the incongruous bathrobe twisted around his legs. Carson checked vitals and called for a stretcher while Rodney caught his breath, bent over with hands on his knees, eyes on Sheppard.

“…dinna tell me you don’t know where we are—use some of that fancy equipment we came down here to fix…”

Rodney shook his head and tapped his own headset. “Elizabeth, the problem’s been fixed and the city’s released Colonel Sheppard. Carson seems to think he’ll be okay—”

“Aye, he’s just exhausted and his electrolytes are all skeewiff.”

“Right, whatever that means,” Rodney picked up the narrative. “I don’t think—” He felt a pluck at his leg, and glanced down.

Sheppard’s eyes were half-open and looking at him.

“Just a minute, Elizabeth,” Rodney said absently, and crouched down. “So, how was it, being one with the city?” he asked with a smile.

“Quiet compared…t’you.”

The answer untwisted the knot in his stomach better than any platitude could have. “Admit it, you missed me,” Rodney said smugly, and dropped his hand into the one that had slid free of his pant leg. It grasped back in a weak handshake. “How’re you feeling?”

“Lousy. T’riffic. Pain’s almost gone.”

“Yes, well, that’s what happens when Atlantis stops screaming through you.”

“Mmm.” John was dozing off and started awake. “Hey…thanks.”

Rodney’s smile grew. Gratitude would have embarrassed him once upon a time, but he knew better how to handle it now. And how to enjoy the warmth washing through him. “For which part? I mean, there was the figuring out you and the city were linked, then fighting Carson to let you out of his torture chamber to go fix it—” Carson growled wordlessly. Rodney went on, undeterred. “And then there was saving you a concussion when the city dropped you…”

But Sheppard was already gone. And, Rodney could have sworn, faintly grinning.

He re-keyed his headset. “We’re doing fine, everyone, thank you so much. How ’bout you?”

For a day that had started early and weird before going to Hell, it hadn’t ended badly at all.

 

The infirmary doors opened with a soft sound, and Rodney peered inside. The lights were dim, this time by choice, to allow the patients to rest. There was only one patient, however, so Rodney crept in. “Colonel? Are you asleep?”

“Yes, Rodney. I’m asleep.”

“Oh, good.” He straightened. “I didn’t want to wake you but if you’re already up…” Rodney came over to the bed and, not seeing a chair in the immediate vicinity, hopped up onto its edge.

“Did you need something?” came the acerbic drawl from the lump next to him.

“No, no. Just came to see how you were doing. So…how are you?”

“Sore. Tired. _Sleepy_.”

If that was supposed to be a hint, he ignored it easily. “I know what you mean—Radek and I and the engineers have been up all night figuring out what you fixed yesterday.”

Sheppard shifted onto his side, curling away to give Rodney room. It didn’t escape him how slow and ginger the movements were. “And?”

“Ballast tanks.”

Rodney’s eyes had adjusted enough to see Sheppard’s arched eyebrow.

“You know, like in submarines? They’re the reason Atlantis floats. They fill up with water to sink, and pumps flush the water out to rise.” His gesturing hands dipped and rose in demonstration.

“I know what ballast tanks are, Rodney. What about them?”

He ignored the impatience as he always did. “The back-up tank system was failing and starting to fill with water. The city would redirect power to pump it out, but it would just start filling up again, hence the shaking and noise.”

“Terrific. All this to save us from a dip in the ocean. Are you telling me Atlantis is going to just…borrow me every time every time something goes wrong?”

“I would have asked you, but it’s not like you were in any shape to be giving permission,” Rodney said defensively.

“That’s not what I…” John’s head rolled on the pillow. “Never mind.”

Rodney considered that. “Well, it was a serious malfunction. If you hadn’t fixed it, the city would probably have sunk completely before we figured it out. We wouldn’t have had enough power for the shields to save us.”

Sheppard winced. “You know what? I think I’m ready to go to sleep now.”

He sighed, having figured that’s how it was. Sheppard called _him_ a control freak, but it was clearly a case of like attracting like. Death versus being taken over by something else wasn’t much of an option…except when it was Sheppard’s life at stake. Then, Rodney hadn’t thought twice about it.

The colonel, however, wouldn’t see it so black-and-white.

Rodney wiggled back against bent legs. “Move over.”

“What are you doing!”

“Just…” he made a little scooting motion with his hands, “…move up a little.”

With exaggerated motions to show just how put-upon he was and no doubt an expression to match, Sheppard pulled his legs in, making room at the end of the bed. Rodney slid back to lean against the wall, stretching out his own legs in front of him. One arm draped over the blanketed feet that now rested against his knees, he was so comfortable, he yawned.

“You’re not going to sleep here, Rodney,” Sheppard’s voice came from the head of the bed.

“I’m not going to sleep,” he answered peevishly. “I’m thinking.”

“Great. Well, I’ll just grab a little nap here while you work on that, okay?”

“It’s not going to happen again,” Rodney asked conversationally, tilting his head to the right so he could just see the dark blur that was John’s hair.

There was a long pause. “How do you know that?”

“This was all because of an untested back-up system. We’re going through now and checking all of them, and then we’ll bring the main systems back on-line. One of those go bad and, well, that’s what the back-ups are for.”

There was a very long silence. Rodney’s eyelids drooped but he refused to let them shut. They snapped back up when Sheppard finally cleared his throat. “You know what the worst part is?”

He opened his mouth, ready to give a sarcastic response, but rethought it. “No.”

“Not remembering what happened. I wake up someplace else and I can’t remember a thing, there’s just this…hole in my memory.”

Rodney let out a long breath. “If it’s any comfort, it’s probably better that way. At least you weren’t aware of the city, uh, pulling your strings.”

“You know, Rodney, it’s really not,” came the soft answer.

“You saved the city, Major. Maybe that’s not enough, but some of us think that’s a pretty big thing.” He curled his hand around what felt like an ankle. “And you weren’t alone.”

“Colonel,” came the automatic correction, and then there was only the sound of their quiet breathing in the dark. It made Rodney drowsy to listen to it. He started when Sheppard broke the silence. “How long has it been since you slept?”

His mouth curved. “Going on forty-eight hours, give or take.”

No response to that, no suggestion he go get some sleep or even grab a neighboring bed, no grousing about him falling asleep right there. Maybe it was reassuring having someone close enough to know if you got up in the middle of the night and started wandering.

Or maybe Sheppard was already out, breathing slower and deeper now.

Rodney smiled sleepily into the darkness. _Gotcha._ Tomorrow they could work some of it out, maybe over a bottle of Athosian grain alcohol, but right now, sleep was good. Sleep was…really good.

Sheppard wasn’t the only one who liked knowing he was safe. Rodney’s hand flexed, making sure it held fast, then he settled comfortably in place.

And slept.

The End


End file.
